Tuesday, January 24, 2017

The
Gods Must Be Crazy. Back in 1980, this was the title of a little
independent film out of South Africa.
It told the story of a bushman named Xi. Xi knew only his particular world, his
family, his clan. The way of life that he was born into, and the traditions and
customs and world understandings that went back generations, provided his only lens
for the world. But Xi was starting to see strange things, such as giant birds
that flew across the sky without flapping their wings. One of those strange birds
was flying in the early moments of the movie, and while Xi looks up to watch
it, the audience gets to see the “bird” up close. The pilot of the small bush
plane was drinking a coke. Emptying the bottle, he threw it out of the small
opening in the window next to him. A terrible act of littering and
environmental recklessness I know, but the bottle drops to the ground near Xi.
Xi followed the sound of the bottle meeting earth, and went to find its source. This bottle was like nothing he had ever seen before. It was
clear like water, but hard. It did not break when he hit it against the ground.
Xi could not fathom what the bottle was or what it might be meant for, but as
the narrator said if something drops from the skies it must be a gift from the
gods. So Xi took this “gift” back to his people.

Everyone
was fascinated by it. They had never seen or touched something this strange and
beautiful. It turned out to be one of the most useful gifts the bush people had
ever been given. It could be used to open the hard rind of fruits. Rub some dye
on its mouth, and it decorated cloth with perfect circles. It could roll dough
into thin, even strips. You could even make music with it by blowing air across
the top. The gift was wonderful. Or was it? The people in the clan began to
experience feelings they had not known before: jealousy, frustration, anger.
Two women began to fight over the gift, each one trying to take it away from
the other so she could have her turn. It resulted in one woman hitting the
other on the head with the gift. When the woman fell to the ground in pain, the
other woman immediately dropped to her knees to hold her and comfort her. What
had she done?! What was happening to them? Xi realized that if this was a gift from
the gods, then the gods had gotten it wrong. He tried to give it back to the
gods by throwing it up into the air. The second time he did it, the bottle fell
and hit his own daughter on the head. The gods must be crazy, because this was
a gift that only brought harm. The rest of the movie chronicles his journey to
return the gift to these crazy gods, as well as the strange new and supposedly
civilized world he encounters along the way.

“Crazy”
and “Foolish” are not necessarily synonyms. However, trying to dig into and
understand Paul’s words to the church in Corinth
made me wonder what someone who had no knowledge about our country or our
civilization would think if they suddenly encountered it as Xi did. What would
someone unfamiliar with us and our ways think about us if all they had to go on
was media, commercials, news, etc? Let’s narrow that question down a bit. What
would someone think about our faith, our churches, our denominations, if they
had no context to go on, no understanding to draw from? I wonder if they might
not come to a conclusion similar to Xi’s. The God we worship is one God, but we
proclaim that our one God is three-in-one. We proclaim that God is powerful,
omniscient, omnipotent, but this powerful God became like one of us. Not only
did our God become like one of us in birth, but also in death. Our God died!
Our God died, not in a noble way, but in the way of a criminal. Our God didn’t
just die, our God was executed.

We
also proclaim that we are all one in Jesus the Christ. Our unity is in Christ.
Because of Christ the barriers and walls that we erect to keep us separate are
torn down. The labels and the categories that we place one another in are
meaningless and swept away because of our God who we know in Jesus the Son. What
Paul seemed to be telling the Corinthians is that they either forgot or
misunderstood the meaning of their baptisms. They forgot or misunderstood to
whom they belong, and into whom they were truly baptized. They didn’t get it.
They were not baptized into the camp of the evangelist or preacher who did the
baptizing. They were baptized into Christ. No person’s baptism or evangelist
made them superior or inferior to someone else. They were baptized into Christ,
and Christ was not divided into pieces and parts.

We
can look at the factions in the Corinthian church and see how they got it so
wrong. We can imagine that someone like Xi, a stranger to Christ and a stranger
to the church, might see their squabbling as hypocritical and foolish. But
let’s be honest, would Xi think any differently of us? Not just our
congregation or our denomination but the church universal. What would Xi think
of us?

I
realize that I am getting at two different kinds of foolishness here. There is
the foolishness that can be seen in the gap that lies between who we are called
to be and who we are. There is the foolishness that can be found in how often
what we proclaim and what we do are very different. And then there is the
foolishness that Paul expounds: the foolishness of the cross.

“For
the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to
us who are being saved it is the power of God.”

Why
is the cross foolish? It is foolish for all of the reasons I’ve named. It is
foolish because an all powerful God should not die like a criminal. It is
foolish because it is an instrument of death, but in that cross we find the
gospel of life and hope and love. It is foolish because any stranger would see
that the cross seems to fly in the face of every value that is exalted in our
culture. It was about the power of God, but not power exerted through might. It
was power shown in sacrifice. It was about serving rather than being served. It
was about a willingness to be poor so that others might be rich in spirit, in
hope and in love. It was about love – love of neighbor, love of the stranger,
the other; love of those who would remain at the foot of the cross and those
who would not. It was about love, even love for those who made the cross
possible in the first place.

The
cross was foolish, is foolish, because it upends every expectation, every
understanding, every notion that we might have about the world and how it
should be ordered. It reverses every category we impose on one another, every
label we use, every wall we build, every way we try to divide ourselves. It overturns
what we think we know about God, about other people and about ourselves. It
preaches a powerful sermon about how we see one another. Do we see one another
in the way we desire or in the way God sees us? Do we see one another through
our differences, or do we see one another through the cross and through the man
who willingly went to it? Do we see one another as God sees us? It seems to me
that seeing one another in that way, through God’s perspective, is probably the
most foolish thing we could do – at least in light of every standard our world
is ordered by. It is crazy. It is nonsensical. It is foolish.

Yet,
that is how God works, in foolish ways through foolish people. God chose and
chooses the most unlikely ways and unlikely people to bring about God’s
purposes. The cross may be the most foolish message of all, but it is in that
foolishness that we find life. It is in that foolish message that we receive
grace. It is in this foolishness that we are encircled and embraced in God’s
foolish, gracious, merciful, wonderful love. The cross is a foolish message
indeed. But thanks be to God for its foolishness. Thanks be to God!

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

To my dear friends, my sisters and
brothers, in the church of Shawnee,

To
all of you who have been made new in Jesus Christ, to all of you who are called
to be saints, along with all the other people in every place who call on the
name of Jesus, their God and our God; God’s grace and peace to you and to your
loved ones.

Everyday
I give thanks to God for each and every one of you, because you have been grace
from God through Jesus. Because of this grace, you are all amazing people. You
have such incredible gifts – gifts of speech and knowledge of all things. God’s
grace that enfolds you has strengthened the witness of Jesus Christ in your
midst. None of you lack any spiritual gift, and these spiritual gifts will help
you and abide with you as wait for the complete and total revealing of Christ
Jesus. Not only will the spiritual gifts that you have been given strengthen
you as you wait, Jesus himself will strengthen you as well, until everything in
this world is complete. Because you have been given such strength, so many
gifts, you will be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. Remember that
God is faithful. It is through God, not any human being, but through God that
you have been called into the fellowship of God’s Son, Jesus our Christ. It is
through God, not any human being, that you are a church.

The
first time I learned the word epistle was in a letter that my dad wrote
to my sister, Jill. I don’t remember where she was living or what she was doing
at the time, but she must have been struggling. My dad sat at our dining room
table, carefully typing on our old typewriter, a letter of encouragement and
love. I offer my apologies to both my dad and my sister for reading over his
shoulder as he typed; but honestly I don’t remember anything else about the
letter other than he closed it by saying that he was sorry for writing such an
epistle. For some reason, that stuck with me. An epistle was a letter. That
memory came back to me when I was in seminary, not only studying Paul’s
epistles in New Testament, but also struggling. My dad sat down, probably at
our dining room table once again, and wrote me an epistle of encouragement and
love.

As often as we
refer to the letters of Paul, sometimes I still forget that he was writing letters.
I know how silly that sounds. Of course they’re letters. But so often we turn
to a particular chapter and verse somewhere in the middle a book, and it easy
to forget that the chapter and verses are not something we consider in
isolation. They are part of a larger context. They make up a letter written by
Paul to the churches that he started and ministered to. David Hay, in his
opening remarks about this first letter to the Corinthians, stated that Paul
felt a deep responsibility to these churches. He kept in touch. He would send
his associates to the churches if he could not go. He planned return trips. And
he wrote letters.

I
suspect that Paul did not have the luxury of sitting at a table as my dad did,
but his letters, his epistles, were meant to encourage, to discipline and to
share the love of Christ. Paul was a master of rhetoric; in other words, he
wrote some mighty fine letters. Paul knew how to use language to persuade,
convince, and exhort. That does not mean that Paul was manipulative or sneaky.
I think Paul was sincere in his passion and zeal for Jesus and the gospel. But
let’s not underestimate what seems to be Paul’s innate understanding of how to
phrase something to capture his readers’ attention.

The
church in Corinth was a divided and
fractured church. They experienced conflict and strife. There were
misunderstandings about Paul’s earlier teachings to them, and misunderstandings
about the purpose of spiritual gifts. The church in Corinth
was home to both wealthy people and poor people. As converted gentiles, the
Corinthians would have brought practices and understandings from their pagan
context into their life together. They were people in a particular time and
place, just as we are here in Shawnee,
in the United States,
in North America, in the 21st century. The
Corinthians were struggling to live out their faith. They made mistakes. They
bickered with each other. Some in the community believed that they were
superior to others in the faith community. Perhaps some believed that they
really did not belong to the church at all.

So
Paul wrote a letter. If you remember later sections in this first letter to the
Corinth church, Paul was not afraid
to call the church folks on the carpet for taking wrong paths. But his opening
greeting to them, the words we read today, sets the tone for the rest of the
letter. He writes to them in the love of God made manifest in Jesus, God’s Son.
The love of God is at the foundation of the letter. Paul reminds them that it
is the love of God that is the foundation of the church as well.

In
spite of the fact that Paul had heard disturbing reports about what was
happening in the Corinth church, he
did not begin by admonishing them. Instead, he gave thanks for them. He gave
thanks for them because God’s grace had been given to them in Jesus Christ. He
gave thanks for them because of their knowledge and spiritual gifts – both of
which are the source of many of their conflicts. He gave thanks because the
testimony of Jesus, the witness of the gospel, was strengthened in their midst.

It
may seem strange that Paul started off in this way because the Corinthians were
messing up big time. If we look only at their errors, their mistakes, their
false assumptions, it would be easy to conclude that they were failing to be
the church of God.
Wouldn’t it make more sense that Paul would begin his letter by telling them to
knock that nonsense off? Wouldn’t we expect a letter written to address the
conflicts and issues they were experiencing to be a rebuke from beginning to
end? As I said, Paul excelled at rhetoric. I suspect that he knew if he started
off by telling them they were blowing it, they would stop reading. His words
would have fallen on the proverbial deaf ears. Paul understood that, so he
began by giving thanks for them. He even gave thanks and lifted up the sources
of their conflicts.

Again,
I do not think that Paul was trying to manipulate them. I think Paul was
sincere. But his opening words of thanksgiving and love not only made his later,
harsher words more palatable, they serve as a stark reminder that the
Corinthians were a church not because of themselves, but because of God. The
people were not responsible for creating that church. Paul was not responsible
for creating that church. God called their church into being. God blessed them
with grace. The gospel of Jesus Christ was made strong among them because of
God. They were a church because of God’s grace and because of God’s love
through God’s Son.

It
seems to me that this is a reminder we all need to hear. How is that we are a
church, a congregation? Yes, we keep on keeping on because we are determined,
because we love one another in spite of our differences, and because we feel
called to be a witnessing presence in Shawnee, Oklahoma.
But first and foremost, we are a church because of God and God’s grace. God
called us into being in the earliest days of Shawnee,
and God called us into being when two churches merged into one, and God calls
us into being right now. We are a church because of God. We are God’s church.

Yesterday
in officer training, we studied and discussed some of the creeds and
confessions that are a fundamental part of being Presbyterian and in the
Reformed tradition. At the General Assembly last summer, the Belhar Confession
was adopted and added to our Book of Confessions. This is a confession that
comes out of the Reformed church in South Africa
and apartheid. As apartheid was dismantled, this confession came into being to
state clearly the need for reconciliation and unity; the reconciliation and
unity that is given witness to in the gospel of Christ. The church in South
Africa offers this confession as a gift to
the larger Reformed body, because we are all in need of reconciliation – one
with another.

One
statement of belief that we read yesterday was this: “that the church as the
possession of God must stand where the Lord stands, namely against injustice
and with the wronged; that in following Christ the church must witness against
all the powerful and privileged who selfishly seek their own interests and thus
control and harm others.”

“That
the church as the possession of God must stand where the Lord stands.”

I
have been repeating those words in my head since yesterday morning. I need to
be reminded that this church is not ours. We are the possession of God. God
created us, claims us, calls us – as individuals, and as a congregation. How
does knowing that, how does understanding that, change how we view ourselves,
our situation and our future together? I so rarely have the answers to the
questions I ask you, but I do know this: we are the church
of God. God is faithful. God keeps
God’s promises. We may not know what will happen in our future, but knowing and
trusting that God makes of us a church is trusting that we are in God’s good
and gracious hands. Knowing that means that we also that there is always,
always, always, always reason to hope.

Sunday, January 8, 2017

Long
trips are perfect for audio books. They make the time go faster. They keep me
alert and awake while I’m driving. One of the best books I’ve listened to in a
while has been Harper Lee’s Go Set a Watchman. This was her “lost
novel,” published in 2015. Like her classic novel, To Kill a Mockingbird,
Watchman also tells the story of Jean Louise “Scout” Finch and her
relationships with her father and family in Macomb,
Alabama. Watchman begins with a
grown up Jean Louse on a train from New York,
coming home to Macomb for her
annual visit.

Although
the story is set in Jean Louise’ present, she has flashbacks, memories, of her
childhood with her brother, Jem, and their best friend, Dill. One of these
memories centered on the annual revival that was an annual summer event in Macomb.
It was a joint effort of the Baptists, Presbyterians and Methodists. Scout, Jem
and Dill had been attending the revival, along with everyone else in the town,
for three nights. On the fourth day, a hot, hot, hot summer day, the three
children were trying to come up with a new game to play. Dill suggested they
have a revival.

Jem
was the preacher. Dill and Scout were the choir and the congregation. Jem
preached a longer sermon than any Scout had ever heard from any adult. Dill
jumped up to be the usher and took the two nickels Scout had in her pocket. She
warned him that he better give them back to her when they were done. They sang
“Amazing Grace,” and “When the Roll is Called Up Yonder.” Then it came time for
anyone who wished to unite with Christ to come forward. Scout went
forward.

Jem
asked her if she repented. She replied, “Yes sir.”

Jem
asked, “Have you been baptized?” “No sir,” she said.

Jem
dipped his hand into the fishpool they were gathered next to and started to
sprinkle Scout on the head, because Jem and Scout were Methodists. But Dill
jumped in and said that this was a Baptist revival, so it had to be a Baptist
baptism.

“You’ve
got to duck her.” Dill decided since he was the only Baptist, he would also be
baptized. But Scout threatened him. Dill had gotten to do everything else. She
was going to be baptized.

She
took off her overalls, the only item of clothing she was wearing. But before
Jem could baptize her in the dark, slimy water of the fishpool, Dill ran into
his aunt’s house. He returned covered in a sheet that he had cut two eye holes
in. When Jem asked him what he was doing, Dill replied, “I’m the Holy Ghost.”

Scout
stood in the pool and Jem stood on the edge. The Holy Ghost stood next to Jem
and “flapped its arms wildly.” Jem dunked Scout and had just begun to baptize
her in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, when Dill’s aunt came after
him with a switch. He had taken her good sheets off the bed and cut holes in
them. They were taking the Lord’s name in vain. She switched him and got him
out of the water, then marched him back to her house.

Jem
and Scout turned to go home, and saw their father standing there watching them.
Two people were with him, the minister who had been preaching every night at
the revival and his wife. [1]

The
memory goes on from there, but I’ll let you read it for yourselves.

When
I heard that scene, I laughed so hard I almost had to pull over to the side of
the road. But along with being hilarious, this moment in the book is a
wonderful illustration about some deep seated beliefs concerning baptism.

Matthew’s
telling of Jesus’ baptism is powerful. We meet John at the beginning of chapter
3. He came from the wilderness in Judea, and called
people to “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” People were coming
to him to be baptized in the river Jordan.
They were confessing their sins. As I understand it, baptisms or ritual
cleansings were fairly common. Jesus did not institute a whole new practice
when he was baptized. But when Pharisees and Sadducees came to John, he
confronted them, calling them a “brood of vipers.” John went onto preach that
while he baptized with water for repentance, one was coming after him who would
baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire.

Sometime
after John preached this fiery proclamation, Jesus came to him from Galilee.
Jesus came to be baptized. John not only questioned Jesus doing this, Matthew
writes that John would have stopped him from being baptized.

“I
need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?”

Jesus
responded, “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill
all righteousness.”

I
have to be honest, I am not sure I fully understand what Jesus meant by these
words. Commentators point out that Jesus coming to John was as a response to
John’s message about repentance. That seems confusing, because why would Jesus
need to repent of sins? There is a sense that Jesus was deliberately illustrating
that his ministry chronologically followed John’s.

Perhaps
most importantly, Jesus’s words to John about letting it be, or as one
commentator said, “permit it,” is not about legalism but about discipleship.

Jesus
being baptized was the beginning of his ministry. Jesus’ baptism was a
declaration and a confirmation of his identity as the Son of God and as the one
who issued in the kingdom of God.
Certainly that became apparent when heavens opened and the Spirit of God
descended on Jesus like a dove, and God’s voice was heard proclaiming that
Jesus was his Son, his beloved Son. In his baptism, Jesus proclaimed who he
was. It was a moment of discipleship, and it was a moment of commissioning. It
was a public notice of who Jesus was, what his presence ushered in, and what he
was there to do.

At
the YMCA Bible study last Thursday, I asked the people around the table to tell
the stories of their baptisms. Although a couple of people spoke about being
baptized as infants, most of the folks talked about being baptized as
believers. It was part of the ongoing debate over which is better – believer’s
baptism or infant baptism. They also spoke about being baptized and being
saved. They accepted Jesus as their Lord and Savior, and they were baptized and
saved.

I
don’t argue with their understanding of baptism and salvation, but it isn’t the
language that we generally use as Presbyterians. Certainly we talk about
accepting Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior. We take salvation seriously. But
we do not necessarily consider salvation and being born again in the same way.
We baptize infants, and the reason I am comfortable and confident in doing so –
my children were baptized as infants – is because we believe that God’s grace
works in our lives whether we recognize it, understand it, get it or not. To be
honest, I think that’s how grace works in my life all the time – not just when
I was younger. I rarely recognize grace in the moment.

Yet,
looking at this story of Jesus being baptized and seeing it as a moment of
identity formation, of commissioning, of giving public notice about Jesus’
ministry, is causing me to consider our baptisms in a new light. When we are
baptized, whether or not we are believers or babies, our identity is being
marked. As a believer, we claim that identity ourselves. As babies, the people
around us promise to help us know and grow into that identity. Identity
formation is a lifelong process. It is not complete at our baptisms, no matter
how old we may be. But baptism marks a beginning. It is public notice that we
are at the beginning of a life of discipleship, of growing into Christ, of
being molded and shaped by the Spirit, of being in relationship with God and
with others.

Our
baptisms are public notice, that we are a new person, that we are disciples,
that we are beginning a life that is marked by the grace of God and the power
of the Holy Spirit. In Go Set a Watchman, Dill dressed as the Holy Ghost
stood by the fishpool and waved his arms. In our baptisms, the Holy Spirit
descends on us, perhaps not as apparent as Dill or as the dove that descended
on Jesus. But the Holy Spirit is there, marking us, making us, molding us. As
we prepare to reaffirm our baptisms, let us once again see this moment as
public notice of our discipleship and of our commissioning to be bearers of
God’s love and light and hope. The world needs all three. The world needs to
hear from us. This is our public notice.

If
you’re anything like me, after hearing our gospel story you must be wondering, “what the heck happened to
Christmas?!” Wasn’t it just seven days ago that we were listening to angel
choruses? Wasn’t it just last week that we followed the shepherds to Bethlehem?
Wasn’t it only 168 hours, 10,080 minutes, and 604,800 seconds since we were
gathered around a manger, oohing and ahhing over a brand new baby?

It
was. But within a week’s time, everything has changed. Technically, we were not
supposed to hear any of the Epiphany message this morning, but I added those
earlier verses in because I felt like we needed to pay homage with the Magi,
and give thanks for the coming of this new king just a little bit longer.

Yet
sadly, the birth of a baby, even the birth of Jesus, does not hold back the
sadness of the world. God’s incarnation – God coming into the world as a baby,
as one of us – did not forestall terrible tragedies or reign in the power of a
despot king’s tyranny. It would seem that the opposite were true. God’s
incarnation brought about the tragedy that unfolded. Herod was a jealous, mean,
paranoid, desperate, narcissistic ruler. We know from other accounts that he would
do anything, anything, to protect his seat of power. He had his
own son killed because he thought Junior was trying to usurp Herod’s throne.
Herod had a strange, icky sort of relationship with Salome, his wife’s
daughter. What came from that relationship? John the Baptist’s head on a silver
platter. So, honestly, it should be no surprise that Herod would turn to
infanticide in order to protect his kingship.

That
does not negate the horror of what Herod did however. It does not diminish his
abominable act against innocent children, against mothers and fathers. We may
be outraged and horrified that Herod would have as many children killed as
necessary in order to stop one child from growing up. We may be sickened by the
thought of Herod massacring infants to prevent a child king from one day
unseating him. But we should not be surprised. Jesus’ whole life and ministry
was about speaking truth to power. But those in authority – those powers and
principalities – fought back. They always do.

Still,
it would have been nice just to bask in the Christmas glow for a little while longer.
It would have been lovely to have skipped these verses altogether. But that is
what is so difficult, so challenging about Christianity. These kinds of texts
present themselves to us. They confront us and our sensibilities. They demand
to be read. They demand to be heard. As I understand it, being people of faith
means that we have to sit with these stories, as painful as that can be.
Matthew wanted his listeners, his readers to know what Herod did, what Jesus,
Mary and Joseph went through. He wanted us to know these things. So we will.

Magi,
astronomers and wise men from the East, saw in the stars a Star – a Star that
meant a great king had been born. Although our nativity sets and popular lore
might have us believe that they showed up in the same night as the shepherds,
it most likely took the magi two years to make the journey. That would explain
Herod’s order to kill male children two years and younger.

It
really is amazing that these men of a different country, of a different
religion, would travel so far to bring gifts to this king. As so often happens
in the gospels, it is the outsiders, the others who recognize the true nature
of Jesus. When these strangers finally reached Jerusalem,
they went to Herod to find out the new king’s specific location. Perhaps they
thought that if anyone would know the whereabouts of a baby royal, it would be
another royal. But they didn’t know Herod. Unwittingly, they tipped him off
about Jesus’ birth. This set in motion the terrible events that followed.
Following the Star that had led them thus far, the wise men found Jesus with
his parents. They brought him gifts that do not sound practical to our ears. I
suspect they were not entirely practical then as well. But their gifts of gold,
frankincense and myrrh signified that this baby boy was a king. As I said,
these strangers got it.

Dreams
play a significant role in Matthew’s birth story. It was in a dream that the
angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph telling him to take Mary as his wife.
Herod told the magi that he wanted them to return to him as soon as they found
the child. That way he could pay a visit as well. But the magi were warned in a
dream to not return to Herod, so they went home by another way. And for a
second time, Joseph was visited by the angel of the Lord in a dream, warning
him to take Mary and the baby and flee from the nightmare Herod was about to unleash.

Joseph
obeyed. He and his family fled for their lives. Didn’t they do what all
refugees do? Their own homeland was so dangerous, that they fled to a place,
anyplace, that would give them some shelter. As many times as I have read and
heard this story, I never gave much consideration to the place where the young
family fled: Egypt.
When I visited Egypt,
I saw signs of buildings proclaiming that this was the spot where the Holy
Family stayed – or this one – or this one. But think about it. They fled to Egypt.
Egypt was the
land where their ancestors once fled. It was in Egypt
where they were enslaved and abused. There another king ordered the death of
children in order to protect his power. Yet, for Joseph, Mary and Jesus Egypt
was safer than Bethlehem. Egypt
was safer than Jerusalem. Egypt
was safer than Israel.
A land of strangers was safer than home.

The
real problem of this entire story is this: the magi were warned in a dream;
Joseph was warned in a dream, but what about the parents of those children who
were killed? Why weren’t they warned? Why did they not get a chance to flee, to
protect their babies? Did God not care? Did God manipulate the events so that
Jesus would be saved at any cost? I know that other folks believe that this is
an example of God being in complete control. It’s terrible what Herod did, but
everything happens for a reason. People suffer for a reason. Terrible things have
always happened for a reason.

But
to that I have to say, “no.” I don’t believe Herod was God’s puppet. I think
Herod was an awful man, an evil man, who did evil things. Were those children
killed, were those families torn apart, because that’s what God wanted? No. I
just can’t believe that. God made promises to God’s people, covenants. God
promised that Abraham would have more descendents than the stars in the sky.
God promised that God would be with God’s people. God promised to be with us,
no matter what. God promised to be present in our lives, in times of joy and
times of suffering – especially, I think, in the suffering. As terrible as it
is to think about, Jesus’ birth brought about suffering. Because the powers and
principalities always fight back. That was true then, and it is true now. The
powers and principalities of the world fight back when truth is spoken to them.
They fight back when they are threatened. Herod was a fearful, paranoid ruler,
and he acted out of fear.

Fear still
abounds. How often do we respond to the events around fearfully? How often are
our actions guided by fear? Every night before our family goes to bed, I make
sure the house and our cars are securely locked. I leave on outside lights to
discourage people from trying to get into the house. Those kinds of actions
stem as much from common sense as they do from fear. But fear drives me in so
many ways. Fear keeps me from speaking out and acting and living. Fear lulls me
into the belief that I, through my own power and will, can make myself secure.
I can keep my kids completely safe. I can prevent all bad things from happening
– to them or to me.

But we all know
that’s not real. All fear really does is keep me from living the life God
called me to live, from being the person God called me to be. God did not call
us to be fearful. God called us to be hopeful. God did not promise that our
lives of faith would be easy or free from tragedy or suffering. But God did
promise that God would be with us. I don’t believe that God wants his children
to suffer; but I do believe that in God our suffering is redeemed. God promised
that God would be with us.

On this first day
of this New Year, with the reality that suffering is alive and well all around
us, we are called to be hopeful. We are called to live lives of courage –
courage that is born of faith. We are called to live in hope, not because it is
easy, but because God promised.